Crazy Little Thing Called Love
by MapleTreeway
Summary: (AU) Alfred F. Jones is a successful movie director living in the 1950s. Ivan Braginsky is a Russian immigrant who is cast as an actor in one of Al's films. When the two meet, they hit it off and eventually fall in love. But the paparazzi are always looking for a good image to ruin, and this romance is perfect ammo to use against Alfred. So how will Alfred fare throughout it all?


**A/N: This plot bunny has like, been sitting in my head for FOREVER so to save my poor brain, I decided to write it. Second RusAme FanFic so yay! I swear this pairing rivals GerIta :3 OH YES! Before I forget, there is Yaoi in here (BoyxBoy) but don't worry all you non-Yaoi-lovers (which I have no idea HOW you people live but whatever), there is mentions or acts of heterosexual relationships. Not everything is Yaoi.**

**That being said, all info I got for the 1950s in America was from the Internet and note that while there are going to be some real life references, nothing happened in real life. So all of Alfred's films are not real and are made up. *overly dramatic disappointed sigh***

**Disclaimer: Do not own Hetalia~. Though I wish I did xP**

* * *

"_Optimism is the foundation of Courage." – Nicholas Murray_

* * *

Alfred F. Jones, successful director of multiple films for Warner Bros. Entertainment, couldn't have been happier in his whole life.

Today was the day where he would pitch his totally awesome plan for a movie and _nothing _was going to stop him. Having already pitched numerous ideas, this was all second-nature to him so all he felt was excitement - never nervousness. After all, a hero could _never _get nervous, right?

Of course right!

…Except a lot of his ideas lately had been shot down…but what did those jerk producers know of films anyway? That one idea of his where a burger alien completely destroyed the city of Cabbage would have totally been a blockbuster!

Whistling, he turned the corner of the sidewalk and breathed in the crisp, spring late-morning air. The sky was clear and sunny with the weather mild. The leaves of the palm trees swayed and rustled gently in the slight breeze as numerous cars zoomed by. People loitered or walked by him on the sidewalks not recognizing him due to his baseball hat, sunglasses, and bomber jacket; which Alfred secretly liked. It wasn't that he didn't like attention, in fact he craved it at points, but sometimes he just wanted to blend in with the crowd. To just be a regular person with a normal life that didn't have to constantly worry about the paparazzi and what the public thought of him and creepy-ass stalkers that really weird him out although they're mainly girls but that just made it a whole lot worse because he didn't want people to find out he was –

Taking a deep breath, Alfred calmed himself down. _For right now,_ he told himself, _you are just a regular person. You are not a star, you are a person._ _Now act like one. _

He continued to whistle, this time choosing an Elvis Presley song, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. Vaguely, he wondered if his idea would get shot down this time. It was a good chance, more than he liked, but perhaps his boss would be in a good mood and say yes. After all, it couldn't hurt to be optimistic, right?

Of course right!

Alfred stopped at a streetlight and waited so he could cross, quitting his whistling for a bit. Looking about him he saw people to his right sitting at a corner café either talking with each other or reading something while drinking whatever it was that they were drinking. To his left, the street and one or two other people waiting to cross. One was a short redheaded woman chewing away on some gum (rather loudly, which made Alfred internally wince) and the other was a tall silver-grayish haired man with a scarf wrapped around his neck (which made Alfred wonder why).

Just as he was about to go and ask why the man was wearing a scarf in the middle of March, a shrill sound blew from the street and the blonde turned his head around to see the cross guard tapping his foot with an annoyed expression on his face. Alfred slowly crossed the street, taking his time in hopes that the taller man would walk ahead of him so it wouldn't seem weird if he caught him staring. It wasn't that the strange man was _attractive_; it was just that Alfred tried to place what made him _different_ among the other people. Like why he was wearing a scarf and how he managed to get his hair that color.

Sure enough, his wishes came true and the scarf wearing man strode ahead of him. Alfred noticed how the guy carried himself fairly fast - and Al was _so not good_ at people-watching or awareness - which was a little shocking. The Silver Haired One (as Alfred had unceremoniously dubbed him after two minutes of studying) put his hands into the pockets of the trench coat he was wearing and seemed to look at his surroundings in what looked like half-hidden awe. Alfred could understand that to a certain degree, as they _were _on Hollywood Boulevard after all, but he didn't understand why the man looked a little…timid?

Alfred shook his head. No. No way could The Silver Haired One be timid. He was reading him wrong, like he read everyone else wrong. This dude was big and probably strong and would most likely be able to take down anyone who fought with him. There was no way he could be timid. "That would be ridiculous," Alfred muttered to himself, "If he were nervous."

Almost as if he heard or sensed that he was the subject of something, The Silver Haired One stopped walking and looked behind him, making steely eye contact with Alfred. Said American nearly had a heart-attack when two things happened.

One, he had been caught - which was _so_ not cool.

And two, there was no way – _No. Fucking. Way. –_ that any eye color could be the color The Silver Haired One had.

Violet.

His eyes were _violet._

Out of all the eye colors in the world – black, blue, hazel, green, brown, silver, gray – this guy had a light shade of purple. _Was that even biologically possible?_ Alfred thought, his own blue ones widening.

The Silver Haired One meanwhile was done sizing up Alfred and decided he was not worth wasting his time on. So he merely narrowed his eyes at him in warning and turned away, walking faster with a dangerous aura surrounding him. People gave him a wide berth and wary glances as he briskly walked by them, seeming to pick up on his temper yet not knowing who he was. That was all fine – perfect even – for The Silver Haired One, he was in no mood to be screwed with or to have questions flung his way. He just wanted to be alone and get to where he needed to go as soon as possible.

Behind him, Alfred stood shock still for a moment longer before shaking his head and continuing to stroll. That dude was weird and strange and unusual, but he didn't have time to dwell on that now. He had a meeting to go to, and he would refuse for anyone or anything (violet eyes be damned) to get him distracted.

* * *

"BOSS~! I HAVE A TOTALLY COOL MOVIE IDEA~!"

Alfred's boss rolled his eyes at the sudden outburst. This was typical of Alfred, to come into his office and literally shout out to the world what he was going to do. While he wished that the young man would behave like a regular person and shimmer down, he knew that there would be no chance of that. For this was Alfred F. Jones, self-proclaimed hero that was known for being obnoxious, loud, and outgoing. To ask him to be quiet would be like asking for the impossible to happen. It wouldn't.

"What is it, Jones?" The elder asked, leaning back on his chair and looking at the blonde.

Blue eyes sparkled as Alfred replied, "Mr. Sam sir, I have the _perfect _idea! Like, it'll totally ROCK."

Mr. Sam raised a white eyebrow at him and inquired, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," the director responded, looking brightly at his boss.

His boss was an elderly man with white hair and beard. He was tall and lanky, with wrinkles on his face and a straight nose. His eyes were gray and hard but still allowed emotion to show through. His personality was open in some places and closed off in others, permitting him to be stubborn and hold his ground better than most people. He wasn't very particular with what people called him so long as people younger than him showed respect by calling him "Mr." or "sir". People his age or very close friends and family simply called him by his first name – "Sam" – while his enemies or the press simply called him by his last name – "Modeerf".

Normally, he wore something with the colors red, white, and blue (Mr. Sam was verypatriotic, you see?) and today was no exception. Today he wore a red collar shirt with white pants and navy colored shoes. Red, white, and blue like the Star Spangled Banner.

"Go on," Mr. Sam said now. "Tell me about this idea you have."

Alfred hopped from one foot to another in excitement. "Okay, so you know how we're tryin' to go to the moon? And how we are currently butting heads with the Soviet Union?"

Mr. Sam nodded.

"So I was thinking that we could make a movie about this one dude who goes to the moon."

"And what is the conflict in this film you have in mind? And where does the Soviet Union go into this?"

The blonde grinned wickedly and easily replied, "Well sir, the conflict would be that the man flies to the moon, lands on it, and suddenly is attacked by this alien who works for the USSR. Then he –"

Mr. Sam cut him off with a shake of his head. "No," he said sternly.

"Wh-what? Why not?"

"I don't like this idea. Do you have any other ideas, Mr. Jones, or are you going to waste my time?"

Alfred gaped slightly before remembering his manners and closing his mouth. Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, he avoided eye contact and mumbled, "Well, there is one other…"

His boss leaned forward and eagerly demanded, "Well tell me!"

"It's, um, it's about this guy and he, uh, he falls in love with this girl and they eventually both fall in love with each other. But they can't be together because he has to go and fight in a war…"

"Hmm…you realize that this is going to open up fresh wounds because it's been less than ten years since World War Two ended, right?"

"Yes sir."

"But that will make it all the more dramatic and sweeter."

Alfred dared to look at Mr. Sam again, but saw that his boss had a faraway look in his gray eyes. Like he was contemplating something…or remembering. His boss had fought in the First World War after all and it was only because he blew out his leg that he didn't fight during the Second.

"Jones," Mr. Sam started a minute later, "how much is this budget you have in mind?"

"Well, I want it to be kind of a B movie, sir."

"So, low budget then?"

"Yes."

A few tense (at least to the director) moments passed before the elder snapped his head toward the younger and said in a steely voice, "Pull this one off correctly and you got yourself not only a blockbuster, but an Academy Award, Jones."

Alfred gulped, his nerves were on edge.

"Can you pull it off?"

"I-I think so…"

"CAN you pull this one off? Not make it cheesy, not make it too shabby. CAN you? Well, Alfred?" Mr. Sam interrogated with a fire in his eyes, standing up and putting his hands on the desk to steady him.

"Yes sir, I can," Alfred responded, this time with confidence and courage.

"Then go! Get your team together and start planning! Start screen-writing and casting and producing and filming! Because Jones, you've got a movie. You've got a film idea that is terrific and I want you to grow on it. I want this film to be an American success, do you hear me? Now go!"

So Alfred went.

* * *

A few hours later, Alfred unlocked the door to his home and went inside, making a beeline for the bed. Kicking off his shoes, he jumped on the soft mattress and pulled a pillow over his head. The initial high of getting a film idea passed had gone and so much had happened over the last eight hours that it made the American tired. He had gotten his team together and even that had been a hassle due to how almost no one was available.

Then there was his plot for the film.

Mr. Sam had loved it; he'd even gotten excited over it, which he seldom did with Alfred's ideas. And that was all fine and dandy, except for one thing.

The _characters _of his film.

Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. They fall in love.

And Alfred didn't even have a clue how that worked. So it was stupid of him to pitch that.

Well, he did know how it felt to be in love. Just not with a _girl. _

Because Alfred F. Jones, successful director of multiple films for Warner Bros. Entertainment, was undeniably, absolutely, positively _gay_ and there was _nothing_ he could do about it.

So how would he be able to pull this straight movie off? He'd never done anything like it before, and Mr. Sam told him not to make it too shabby.

Alfred groaned into his pillow and decided to no longer think of it and just go to sleep. But as he drifted off, his brain couldn't help but think of the color violet for some strange reason. It made no sense, but Alfred decided not to question it further. He was tired and it had been a long day and all he wanted to do right now was _sleep. _

So sleep he did.


End file.
